


Victory Rodeway Inn

by Esmethewitch



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 80s Cars, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Background Finnrey, Based on a True Story, Cars, Chrysler-bashing, Connecticut - Freeform, Crack, Historical References, Hotels, Humor, M/M, Mentions of sex work, Poe Dameron Being a Little Shit, Roadtrip, Sharing a Bed, Snob Armitage Hux, fade to black sex scene, sketchy hotel, this is why you aren't rude to people working customer service
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:27:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esmethewitch/pseuds/Esmethewitch
Summary: Hux and Ren are tasked with driving from Philadelphia to an important business meeting in Boston. Along the way, Hux's pride and joy (his 1981 Chrysler Imperial) breaks down and they are forced to call a tow company and spend the night in a less than respectable hotel. In a room that's rented by the hour, with only one bed. The bed vibrates if someone puts a quarter into the machinery.
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	Victory Rodeway Inn

**Author's Note:**

> So the 1981 Chrysler Imperial was a real, shitty, overpriced '80s car and Frank Sinatra did promote it. You can read about it here: and here: 

“I can’t believe this.” Armitage Hux, future CEO of First Order Industries (once Mr. Snoke retired) clenched his fists tightly as trucks sped past them on the I -395.”We broke down in Connecticut.  _ Connecticut!  _ It’s a small state, but it takes half the day to drive across it. I am convinced that Purgatory is real, and it is here.” These bland suburbs and congested highways would be the perfect fiendish instruments of a Budget Hell.

Smoke billowed out from under the hood. A cool, diesel-scented wind blew. There was no hope of making Boston tonight. He clutched his briefcase, weighing his options. He’d worn his suit to travel, preferring to always look his best with his hair neatly slicked back. Ren, his colleague, opted for sweatpants, saying that he “might as well be comfortable” if they were to drive for eight hours. Said colleagues’ waist and plump buttocks were on full display as Benjamin “Kylo” Ren bent over the blackened detritus of his 1981 Chrysler Imperial. 

“Ren, that’s enough. You’ll just make whatever it is worse,” Hux said, peering dubiously at Kylo’s efforts to find the electronic fuel injection system. Supposedly this was a modern innovation to increase efficiency, but Hux was beginning to suspect that this was in fact a dud. A failure of engineering, and a waste of eighteen thousand dollars, hard-earned from his recent promotion. 

“Hux, my old man owned a garage. I know how to get a car running again. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Hux sniffed. 

“And you’re attempting investment banking now, instead. Stop. One of us will walk to the nearest rest area, which is less than five miles away according to my map. There, I will call a towing company, a mechanic, our contacts in Boston, and Mr. Snoke. We may miss tomorrow’s negotiations because of this.”

Kylo got up, dark lustrous hair streaming from the mullet and fanning around his face. This hairstyle was so unprofessional, but Snoke let him get away with it. Snoke let him get away with everything. If Hux had his way, he’d personally supervise the man’s next trip to the barbershop and make him get a crew cut.  _ A shorter cut would make his ears stick out ridiculously,  _ a small voice in his head said.  _ He wouldn’t look nearly as handsome that way.  _ Hux boxed this thought on the ear and told it that was the point.

A dark smear of motor oil adorned one cheek. Hux resisted the urge to spit on his handkerchief and wipe it off.

“Why are you going to the rest area while I stay with the car? Isn’t this how people die in horror films?”

“Aww someone’s afraid of the dark?” Hux sneered. “Be a good boy. Don’t take candy or a ride from strangers.”

“Asshole.”

With that, Hux marched off down the shoulder to the rest area. He could have hitched a ride, but that was also a way to die in horror-film fashion, dismembered by his driver in the ditch of one of the little backroads that criss-crossed this area like cobwebs in a dusty old house. He shivered. His suit jacket was not sufficient to keep off the cold, but he was not going to show weakness in front of Kylo Ren. Ren was the firm’s golden boy who could do no wrong, and his chief rival for the CEO position, despite being much less qualified.

He made it to the payphones. Snoke was irate that they’d be late, and seemed to take a mechanical mishap as a personal and moral failing on Hux’s part. He glared so fiercely during this dressing-down that a short, Asian girl standing beside some duffel bags and waiting for a taller, possibly related woman to finish her conversation in the next phonebooth first flinched as they accidentally made eye contact, then glared back at him with just as much venom. Hux looked away first, hopefully letting her think that she’d established some sort of dominance. It didn’t matter, at any rate. They were strangers in a rest area. Thumbing through the phone book, he found a tow company that promised reasonable rates and good service. He called, and was assured that there would be a team to assist him shortly. Next, he found two mechanics. He tried calling both of them, but the late hour meant that there was no reply. He copied the telephone numbers into his memo book. Hopefully he’d get quick service in the morning.

Then came the march back to the car. Kylo was sitting where he’d left him in the passengers’ seat, though he’d put his feet up on the dashboard and reclined the seat. He was snoring. 

“Get up! A tow truck is coming.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

However, “soon” turned out to be an hour later. 

“I’m sorry, buddy,” the driver said, giving the impression of a scolded puppy with soulful dark eyes and wavy brown hair. “There was a real nasty accident that took longer than we anticipated to sort out, and you guys were parked all nice and safe on the shoulder. Normally, we try to be quicker than this.”

“I should hope so,” Hux said coldly. “This is a very expensive vehicle, and I hope that you will treat it with the care it requires.”

A second figure hopped out of the tow truck and assisted the tow truck driver in hooking up the car to the truck. His bright yellow reflective jacket contrasted with his dark skin. Hux was unclear of the technical specifics here and stood uselessly to the side with Kylo while the men worked. The driver’s assistant turned to Hux, eyes wide with shock. “That one of Chrysler’s Imperials?”

“Yes,” said Hux, puffing up with pride.

“You got scammed. Can’t believe you let Frank Sinatra con you into buying that thing. What you got here is a Dodge Aspen in a big old tin can. Imperials used to be good, but not anymore. Best thing you can do is sell it and buy almost anything else. Not a Volvo, though.”

“And what would you know about that?” This technician might have been objectively right, but it still stung. 

“My girl’s a mechanic. She says that the only saving grace of the Chryslers now is the money you can get for the scrap.”

They all squeezed into the cab of the truck like a bunch of clowns trying to fit into a car, Hux reflected sourly. “Finn here is new, so he’s riding along with me for a bit,” the driver explained apologetically. “We’ll be nice and cozy in here.”

“I expected more professional behavior from you, I will admit,” Hux said, miffed. “First you take an hour to arrive, which is hardly what I would call a ‘short’ period of time, then you disparage my car, and finally, you cram us all into the cab of a tiny truck.”

“Sorry. It’s been a very busy time for us. We can drop you somewhere and you can get a taxi, if you like,” said Finn. “There’s not much around here, though. Might be a bit of a wait. Do you gentlemen have a place to stay the night?”

“No. What do you recommend? I’m unfamiliar with this region.”

The driver smiled. “Can’t go wrong with the Victory Rodeway Inn. It’s on our way back. Nice place to spend a night.”

“Poe---” Finn bit his lip.

Hux scoffed. “The Victory Rodeway Inn. I expect it’s charming, in a rustic sort of way. The best one can hope for in Connecticut.”

Finn and Poe exchanged glances. “Yes, it’s a nice place,” Finn said quickly. “Very clean. Good beds, an ice machine, and all that. Not too pricy. I’d recommend it to everyone from out of town.”

“The Victory Rodeway Inn,” mused Kylo. “I like the sound of that.”

Poe had a coughing fit.

They were dropped off in the hotel parking lot with their baggage and reassurance that they’d be able to call in for the car in the morning. Finn and Poe left quickly. No love lost there.

Kylo and Hux walked into the lobby, past a couple of planters filled with plastic trees that somehow managed to look dead. The first thing Hux noticed was the bulletproof glass in front of the concierge. The second was that the rates listed on this glass for rooms were hourly. The third was that the people loitering in the lobby, the clientele of this illustrious Inn appeared to be largely what his father would have called “trollops” in booty shorts, miniskirts, fishnet stockings, and shirts that showed the midriff most scandalously.

Ren walked forward briskly, oblivious. “We’d like a room,” he told the concierge, a tired older woman with huge false eyelashes who was chainsmoking foul cigarettes.

She blinked, caterpillar-like falsies fluttering in disbelief as she gazed from Ren to Hux and back again. “Alright. How long?”

“Um. A night?” 

“This place charges by the  _ hour,  _ “ Hux told him. “And we want  _ separate  _ rooms.”

“Single room would be cheaper.”

And Hux, pocketbook emptied mostly by an expensive and ill-advised car reluctantly acquiesced. “Fine. One room.” 

“Eight hours, then,” said the concierge. “No smoking, no pets, don’t make too much of a mess or there’s a fifty-dollar cleaning fee.” She took Kylo’s credit card, billed them, and gave them a key from a nicotine-stained hand.

They went up a rickety elevator with suspicious stains on the floor. The doors dinged open, and they went in. There was only one tiny bed. 

Hux considered taking the floor, but he poked at the gray carpet with the toe of his dress shoe and the carpet fought back. He yawned. He was too tired after a day of driving to find better lodging. Finn and Poe of Resistance Towing were dead men walking, but that could come later. First, sleep. He changed out of his suit to pyjamas, brushing ash off of the room’s one booger-green armchair before laying it down. He’d already searched in vain for coathangers. He wondered if the concierge came up to the rooms to smoke. Ren didn’t change, stretching out in his sweats. Hux crawled into bed and prayed that the bedbugs literally wouldn’t bite, taking care not to touch Ren.

“Hey, Hux!”

“Yes, Ren?”

“There’s a slot to put quarters in this bed! Look!” Hux craned his neck, and looked over. Of course there would be, in a place like this. 

“That’s nice, Ren,” he muttered. “I’m going to have some sleep. We’ll be dashing around in the morning trying to get the car fixed and traveling to Boston.”

There was a shuffling and a clink from Ren’s side of the bed. Unseen gears whirred, and the bed vibrated violently.

“The fuck? Why is it doing this?”

Hux kicked him. “Why do you think? Remember that this place charges by the hour. I’m sure you can put two and two together. Somehow you got through college at an Ivy League institution, though I’m told that Cornell isn’t  _ that  _ selective…”

Ren rolled over, looking at him with big, innocent eyes. “It’s for massages?”

“No, you idiot. There are...ladies of the night in this lobby. Room rent is by the hour. Think for once.”

Ren blinked. “There are hotels for this sort of thing? And people think that a vibrating bed is  _ sexy? _ ”

“Yes, Ren, yes. Now shut up, don’t pay for the bed to vibrate anymore, and let’s try to get some sleep.”

Kylo pouted at him, hurt. “I was stuck at my Uncle’s religious boarding school from age thirteen to eighteen. I didn’t learn a lot of stuff.”

“Oh. How sad.” The bed stopped shaking. Kylo reached over and put in another quarter.

“Stop putting money into that thing!”

Kylo shucked off his sweatshirt, exposing a spectacular and hitherto totally unexpected pair of tits. They were  _ tits,  _ not pecs, large, broad, and probably firm but with just the right amount of give. Hux mentally kicked himself for thinking like that, cheeks burning up with shame. He was growing hard in his flannel pyjamas.  


Kylo grinned. “Make me.”

Hux glanced over to the nightstand and found a vending machine, but for condoms and lube, not candy or soda. Then, back to Kylo Ren’s ridiculous breasts, which were now jiggling slightly like perfectly done custards with the reverberations of the bed. Like custards, they made Hux's mouth water with anticipation in spite of himself.  


" Oh! I think I know why they make the beds vibr---mMMPH!”

They didn’t get any sleep at all that night. But Kylo was  _ much  _ easier to work with after that. 


End file.
